He was right. My business model was walking into danger with a giant invisible bear trap over my head.
The problem was that the city was getting worse faster than decent people could adapt. The first night had been chaos. The second day became strategy. Bad players realized F-ranks were walking treasure chests. Some had food. Some had cores. Some had skill scrolls they could not use yet.
The weak were hunted at bus stations, subway entrances, and dungeon gates.
So I hunted the hunters at all three.
At the bus station, a group pretended to offer shelter, then shoved F-ranks into a luggage room and stripped them of supplies. I walked in with my gray F floating above me, carrying a bag stuffed with empty cans so it jingled like loot. They locked the door behind me.
Perfect.
When the first one punched me, the system painted him red. When the second kicked me, red. When the third pulled a knife, red with a bonus warning.
I let them surround me, because the room had metal benches bolted to the floor and my new chain loved metal. I snapped the chain around one bench leg, poured mana into it, and whipped it in a circle. The bench tore free and became a spinning hammer. Luggage flew. Players flew. Someone got launched into a vending machine so hard candy rained down like confetti.
I revealed my S-rank only after the last one realized the F-rank was not trapped with them. They were trapped with me.
At the subway entrance, player killers used monster noise to cover their attacks. They would lure victims down the stairs, then stab them while the train tunnels echoed with growls.
I walked down alone, fake F-rank glowing, whistling badly on purpose.
A knife came from behind. I shadow stepped into the darkness under the staircase, appeared above the attacker, and stomped him face first into the steps. His friends jumped out with crossbows made from office chairs and wire.
I dropped my rank from F to E for one second, just enough to confuse them. They froze. Why would a rank change?
That pause saved me effort. I flickered from E to D to F, making my rank blink like a broken sign while I moved through the shadows. They wasted bolts shooting at afterimages. I used the chain to yank one into another, then kicked both down the stairs into a pack of tunnel crawlers.
I did not let the monsters kill them. That would have been too easy. I waited until the crawlers scared them into swinging at me again, then knocked them out and dragged them to the station crystal. The crystal took them. The monsters got the crossbows. Everyone was disappointed except me.
At the first dungeon gate, things got complicated.
A public gate had opened inside a movie theater. The sign above the entrance said the dungeon difficulty was C-rank, which made it perfect for mid-level teams. The problem was that a guild had claimed the gate and started charging entry fees in monster cores. Anyone who could not pay got shoved away. Anyone who argued got beaten until they gave up. The guild wore matching green scarves and acted like that made them official.
Grace stood in front of them, clipboard-free, because thankfully the apocalypse had spared me from paperwork, but her attitude felt like a stamp anyway. She had a B-rank above her head, sharp eyes, and the kind of smile people use when they are deciding how useful you are.
She saw my F-rank and told me to leave before I embarrassed myself.
So I bowed a little and asked if F-ranks got a discount.
Her guild laughed. Grace did not. She looked at me a little longer, like something about me annoyed her instincts.
Then one of her guards shoved me. Red sparks did not appear. A shove was not enough. The system wanted a real attack.
I stumbled backward on purpose, hit the popcorn counter, and made a huge show of dropping my bag. Monster cores rolled everywhere across the carpet. Every green scarf in the lobby stared.
Greed is a leash. You only have to tug it once.
When the guard lunged for the cores, I grabbed his wrist first. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to stop him. He snarled and punched me in the face.
Red sparks. Aggressor confirmed.
I smiled through the hit. Grace's eyes widened.
My F-rank burned away. The S above me lit up the theater lobby, reflecting off movie posters and broken glass. I cracked my neck, picked up one core, and flicked it like a coin. The core hit the attacking guard in the forehead and launched him backward through a cardboard monster standee.
The lobby exploded into motion.
Green scarves rushed me from every side. Some had swords. Some had shields made from car doors. One had a skill that turned his arms into stone, which seemed impressive until I wrapped my chain around both wrists, poured mana into the links, and made him clap so hard he knocked himself out.
I used the popcorn machine as cover, the candy counter as a springboard, and the shadows under the theater seats as doorways. Every time someone swung at me, their red mark got brighter. Every time they hesitated, I lowered my rank back to F for half a second and waved.
It made them furious. Furious people are easier to aim.
I baited three into charging at once, shadow stepped behind the ticket booth, and let them crash through the glass. Then I kicked open the emergency doors and pulled the whole fight into the street where the safe zone crystal could see us.
Grace never attacked. That was the first thing I respected about her. She kept one hand raised, watching the red marks stack on her people, and the moment the crystal chains came for them, she stepped aside.
Her guild screamed as they were pulled into glowing cells one by one. The green scarves fluttered to the floor like defeated flags.